in the effort to name roast beets

My family has a wonderful tradition of naming new dishes. You make something previously unseen at your particular dinner table, and your spouse, in an effort to put some kind of label to it, inadvertently comes up with an adjective that then sticks to said dish like dried banana. (Trust me, anyone who ever let banana dry on something knows what I mean.)

From this tradition come fantastic masterpieces such as Tuna Glop (actually a form of frittata) and Fluorescent Chicken (aka Cranberry Chicken, but it contained a strikingly orange variety of Russian dressing).

Tonight I tried roasting beets. They were very large, and I was very tired. The skin came off when they were done mostly as advertised, but I didn't cut them up, so everybody got a whole beet. I ate mine in an unladylike fashion that I won't go into here, but in an effort to eat like a real person, my husband cut bite-size pieces off of his. They had an unfortunate tendency to slide around when liberated. He became frustrated.

Thus I can report the new name for roast beets: Slippery Bastards.